July 4, 2008 - Siem Reap, Cambodia 6:00pm

It's ironic that I'm spending Independence Day among the least free people in the world.

Today we visited two sites that are associated with an organization called Krousar Thmey, which means “New Family”. The first site we went to was a School for the Blind and Deaf. Initially, I didn't see how this school and human trafficking were related, until I was told that here in Cambodia, a family's only real option for dealing with a blind or deaf child is to sell them off. Families most often struggle to support themselves with basic necessities, so providing for a child with special needs is out of the question. They can, however, make a decent sum for themselves if they sell of the children to work as beggars or sex slaves. The “begging industry” here is structured much like a gang or a prostitution ring – there are “big brothers” who control a group of children. The children are trained to beg, and are forced to turn over their money to the big brothers in exchange for protection and shelter. The more pitiful the child, the more effective they are at playing on others' sympathy and collecting money. Therefore, it is often in a big brother's interest to keep the children hungry and malnourished, bruised, dirty, and injured. Similarly, a blind, deaf, or otherwise disabled child can also be quite a lucrative possession for a big brother.

Fortunately, the School was founded in order to provide an alternative, and some hope , for these children. The School provides housing, food, social support, academic education, and creative and performing arts, and vocational training. It is a nonprofit organization, and is funded completely by individual donations. Blind and deaf children are brought to the School when they are found in orphanages, rescued from traffickers, or discovered within the community.

Despite being informed of these children's often horrific backgrounds, it was difficult to believe once I interacted with them. They were given a recess while we were on the modest little campus, and were thrilled to have some new and strange people to entertain them. One member of our group brought a bag of bright yellow balloons to give out, and by the way the kids reacted you would have thought they were gold bricks covered in chocolate. They screeched and laughed and batted the balloons around. They were joyful over such a simple pleasure. And they were able to simply be children. I was blessed to witness it.

Our next stop was to one of the Krousar Thmey Family Houses. The Family House Program is similar to a foster care or adoption system, but does have some key differences. Family Houses seek to provide a new family to the very young or deeply traumatized children who are rescued from trafficking and the streets. A Cambodian couple opens their home and raises a family of 10 of these children. It's not about money, and it's not about a governmental obligation. It's about a couple of people who become real-life heroes to the most damaged and in-need children. They aren't specially trained and they aren't a part of a larger “system”. They are parents and their sole purpose is to give these children a family, a safe home, love, and an upbringing that maintains their Khmer heritage and culture. Once a child is placed in one of these homes, they are a permanent member of the family, and stay there until they are grown.

We got to meet one of these incredible families and spend some time with them. The parents were humble working-class people who strived only to love their kids. The rooms of their house were completely empty except for the sleeping mats that were rolled up in the corners, and tables and chairs in the main room. The yard was full of chickens and dogs. When asked by one of our group members what their greatest need was, they simply answered “we are happy”. And the children seemed happy, too. We brought pizza, balloons, and some soccer balls for the kids. And then we played. For hours. We played with the balloons. We played soccer and volleyball. We taught eachother words for the farm animals depicted in the children's books I gave them. We sang songs and played patty-cake type games. We communicated with charades and facial expressions. They adopted us into their family for a day. And it was simple and real and lovely.

The littlest girl there was 8 years old. She was fascinated by everything I did, and I became her little pet. When we were playing in the sun, she sensed I was getting too hot and led me by the hand into the shade. At one point, she gasped and desperately started dusting off my arm. I had leaned against the house and was covered in dirt and paint chips. She was, too, but she didn't seem to recognize it. I got the sense that, to her, I was clean and needed to be preserved. I only wish she saw herself the same way.

Of course, when it was time to leave, the thought occurred to me to grab her and run. But then I remembered that she has a family who loves her. And it seemed like the biggest miracle in the world. How sad is that?

One of the boys there gave each of us a drawing that he had done. I received an ink drawing of humming birds and roses. I have been looking at the picture wondering where in his life he has ever seen such an image, since I doubt he observed it himself. And then I turned the paper over and saw a drawing that was, tragically, more authentic. He had drawn a stick figure scene of a child giving oral sex to a grown man. The drawing was small and rudimentary and off in the corner, but it was there. I was struck by how the image he presented me, flowers and birds, was a pretty distraction from the real images in his head that needed to be expressed. Unfortunately, despite the incredible love and care that Krousar Thmey offers these kids, it isn't able to provide any sort of counseling or specialized treatment. And though these kids are a million miles ahead of where they would be without it, they are still doomed to have these ugly images and experiences lurking in their heads because nothing can change their past. I am even more intent now on saving as many people as I can from such a fate. Prevention is definitely better than treatment, and yet so much harder to accomplish.